Inevitable
by Jockstrap
Summary: It seemed inevitable, that they would become one the same. A dark retelling of the Harry Potter series from the end of Book 2. Rated M for Harry/Voldemort slash
1. I:1

Warning: Slash

Disclaimer: This is purely a work of Fanfiction and in no one is being profited off of. All rights reserved to J.K. Rowling w/Warner Bros.

summary: It seemed inevitable, that they would become one the same. A dark retelling of the Harry Potter series from the end of Book 2. Rated M for Harry/Voldemort slash

* * *

I: THE AFTERMATH

* * *

1.

Harry was floating.

His conscious flirted between the smoky haze of blackness and pull of reality. Eyelids flickered gently as his mouth moved, spewing jumbled words. In the farthest distance of his mind he could hear voices speaking at once, a buzz of murmured conversation that confused him. He tried to make heads-or-tails of what he was hearing but the more he stressed to listen and understand, the heavier the haze of sleep grew on his weary mind.

_"Harry ..."_

The boy sat upright instantly, eyes snapping open, suddenly wide awake. He looked around the unformed room, heart pounding against his chest, and if not for a few moments later, realizing that his scar was prickling. He brought his fingers up to press against it, eyes moving about the room.

There was no one there. How was it possible? Those two syllables were spoken so clearly, as if the person had sat right beside him, whispering his very name into his ear.

Harry rubbed at his scar, hoping to chase away the prickling sensation. He realized his skin was coated in a thin layer of sweet a moment later, goosebumps rising along his damp arms as he quickly rubbed at them.

_"Harry."_

There it was again, his name whispered, softly. His scar itched, eyelids burning with sudden weight as his mind fought to make sense of this all. The voice that spoke sounded familiar; something a part of his mind crooned for him to trust. He wanted to trust it, the whispering voice, but it felt off to him.

_"Harry … You must be so tired … "_

He _was_ tired, so tired and couldn't understand why. He neared the edge of sleep, leaning toward the dark abyss that promised a painless, dreamless, slumber. He was so close …

"Professor Dumbledore he's awake!"

Something within him snapped, scar burning as irritation flared up. He had been _so_ close, so very close and these people . . . Harry blinked, cradling his aching head, groaning as footstep after footstep entered the small bedroom. The bed creaked and sagged, voices all talking at once. A hand, large and warm and real, settled on his shoulder, and the small boy raised his head up to stare into the face of Albus Dumbledore.

"Sir?" was all he could think to say.

"My boy, how are you feeling? You must still be reeling after your ordeal," Dumbledore said with a light smile, eyeing the boy as the others gathered around them.

"I don't … Where am I?" Harry frowned, leaning away from the mans touch in favor of cradling his head again. The ache was intensifying, growing, pulsing . . .

"Professor McGonagall kindly lended you her room for the past fortnight," Dumbledore simply put. "We've all been quite anxious for you to wake up, my boy."

"Why?"

There was a pregnant pause, the gathered adults (Snape, McGonagall, and three others) all stared at the boy with obvious disbelief. Harry, for his part, didn't notice. Someone cleared their throat, robes swishing upon the movement of a body.

Dumbledore, seeming to have finished some musing, continued. "You were in quite the state when we retrieved you from the Chamber of Secrets, Harry." He leaned toward the boy. "Tell me, what happened to cause such an injury to your person."

The boy mumbled something, his conscious rapidly slipping. Harry raised his head with difficulty, turning to stare at the Headmaster with unfocused eyes. "The Chamber of Secrets …" He repeated, testing the words on his tongue. Darkness continued to tug at his mind, urging him to fall beneath its spell, but still, after a moment, his mind began to recollect missing pieces to its person.

The Diary. The bloody note on the corridor wall. The Chamber. Riddle. Ginny . . .

"Where's Ginny?" Harry quickly asked.

Another pause, longer and more-grim. Staring into the open expressions around him, it slowly dawned on Harry at the fate of his friend. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, unable to find the words to say. It was impossible, right? The diary . . . Had he not destroyed it?

"Mr. Potter, you need to tell us what happened while you were in the Chamber with Miss Weasley," one of the male strangers spoke up. He was dark skinned, tall, with serious eyes and a shaved head. "You were the only one who can give us a clear understanding on what occurred."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know . . ."

"You don't know or you won't tell us?" Snape supplied up, a sneer curling his mouth.

"Professor Snape," McGonagall said, appalled. "The boy has gone through enough as it, he doesn't need to be pestered by the likes of us so soon after waking up."

"You might be right," a pink haired woman pitched in, nodding by the dark man's side. "We can get a statement from him later on, after he is more well rested and active."

"It would be best for the boy," Dumbledore said, rising from the bed. "Much more there are other pressing matters that must be discussed with haste."

They all spent a moment agreeing on this, ignoring Harry even as he stared at them with a heavy frown. As they talked his scar itched and burned beneath his fingers.

_"Harry . . ."_

He shuddered, chills crawling up the length of his spine. There was something sinister about the way the whispered voice said his name, something he couldn't quite place his tongue on.

_"Harry. . . Get some rest, you carry such a burden for one so young … You must be so tired … "_

He was on the precipice of sleep now, flirting with the black abyss once more as it promised a dreamless sleep to come. Harry didn't notice it, not at first, At first, it was like a gentle itch inside his skull, barely noticeable, barely there. Harry probably wouldn't have even been able to tell that it was there at all if he had been any closer to that edge of unconsciousness.

But then the itch began to intensify slightly, a soft, vague nudging at the back of his mind—no, not a nudging, a tugging, almost like … like a _removal_ of something. It felt unnatural, wrong to him.

Harry fought against the seduction of sleep, attempting to regain his conscious state of mind. Why wasn't anyone of people around him helping? Didn't they see that he was struggling?

He felt it, not at first, but only after he'd been thrust head-first into the abyss. It was like a quick snip, and then whatever was taken gone. The space that was left didn't go unnoticed to him however. Harry picked at it, trying to regain what was lost as a soft voice laughed quietly in his mind.

_"Go to sleep, Harry … You're so tired . . . "_

Yes, he was so very tired.


	2. I:2

Warning: Slash

Disclaimer: This is purely a work of Fanfiction and in no one is being profited off of. All rights reserved to J.K. Rowling w/Warner Bros.

summary: It seemed inevitable, that they would become one the same. A dark retelling of the Harry Potter series from the end of Book 2. Rated M for Harry/Voldemort slash

* * *

2.

Layers of darkness were slowly stripped away from the sky, cheerful cooes of birds filling the air as morning was conceived.

The occupants of Privet Drive lay in a dreamless slumber. Their homes, left in state of manicured perfection, with cars and lawns to match, didn't foreshadow anything to be out of the ordinary in the quiet community. As patches of pink and red painted the sky, it was only moments later that a piercing cry from number four would soon disrupt the calming quiet.

Petunia Durlsey wasn't quick to react to the cry, not like she would have a few weeks prior. Shifting in her bed beside the grumbling form of her husband, she peeled her eyes open, sitting upright slowly. The screaming never paused, never lowering or rising; continuous. The back of her eye throbbed and twitched, annoyance filtering into her groggy mind. Throwing back the blanket, Petunia rose from her bed, slipped into her slippers, and slowly padded out of her bedroom. She spared a moment to check on her son, smiling when he saw he still laid uninterrupted by the screaming. Petunia opened the door to her nephews bedroom, her growing annoyance trickling away rapidly as she caught sight of the state he was in.

It was no different from before, when the early morning screams had first started. The boy sat in a corner of his bedroom, tearing at his hair, mouth working to form words.

Weeks before it had been Vernon's violent act against the boy that had snapped him from his possessed state, but Petunia couldn't bring herself to touch the boy, not while he sat there, rocking and screaming and mutilating himself.

She closed the door, putting the lock into place. She didn't want Vernon to come in here again; didn't want to witness him smack the boy until his skin bloomed and glowed with various shades of violet and blue. Petunia gnawed at her bottom lip, still uncertain what to do, then she noticed it. It didn't catch her eye, not at first, not with the boy still screaming and clawing at himself, but her eyes soon gazed upon his small face and she recoiled.

The fear, the aching of something, and tears that welled within her sisters eyes startled her. She had seen such an expression before, but only when she was so young, back before her hatred had been born.

The boy continued his screaming, lips trembling as he mumbled "memories" and "gone." Petunia couldn't grasp the meaning behind them, and she didn't try to, she only stepped toward him. He didn't pay her any mind as she lowered herself to sit before him. Petunia reached out, lowered her hand, and reached out again to touch the thin face.

"Harry," she said quietly, his very name a foreigner on her tongue as she moved her hand to his shaking shoulders and shook him. "Harry." She uttered it again.

He didn't react, didn't stop, didn't change. Biting down harder on her bottom lip, Petunia slowly, uncertainly, drew him into her arms. It felt different, very strange compared to the times she comforted her own son. This boy was smaller, more fragile compared to her Dudley. Her arms absently tightened around him, mouth dropped closer to his ear as she cooed and whispered sweet nothings to him. A few moments of this seemed to be enough, his screams finally dying away as he settled into a whimpering mass that clung to her.

Petunia continued to hold him for a moment longer, allowing all noises to escape him before drawing back. Unfocused green eyes stared upward at her, welled with unshed tears. How pitiful, she thought.

"It'll be alright, everything is fine," she said, repeating words she'd used on Dudley numerous times before. "Everything will be alright, so don't scream, don't cry anymore."

Those words seem to do something, if even very little, for the boy. He blinked away the remains of his tears, turned away from her and stared out the window.

Petunia sighed, chewed on the corner of her mouth, and turned to walk away, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable in the same room with her nephew. She closed the door behind her, but not before hearing two words spoke quietly.

"Thank you."

The door clicked close and they both returned to their respective worlds.

* * *

_"Harry …"_

Harry didn't fight the seductive voice, not this time. His mind, far too heavy with the cloak of exhaustion, made no move to protect itself against the pulling, the tugging, of his memories.

_"Harry … How pitiful you look … Like the child you were always meant to embody … "_

The whisper was purred into his ear. There was no one there, he told himself, but he didn't feel alone. There were eyes on him, soaking in his weakness as he laid limply in his bed. He felt his scar prickle, itching as something else was taken from the confines of his mind. He probed at the one of the few missing areas in his head, trying to recollect what was stolen from him.

_"Sleep Harry … You must be so tired after such a show of screaming and crying . . . "_

A low laugh, uttered into his ear sent shivers down his back as his eyelids fell shut.

_"Yes, that's it Harry … Just go right to sleep . . . "_

Harry shifted in his bed, tears seeping past his closed lids as he gave a quiet sob. He didn't want to go to sleep, not while he was being violated by some … some being. His mind battled against him though, parts of it cooing to trust the voice; let it comfort him as his aunt had down just earlier. He remembered how it felt, to be held in arms that both comforted and offered protection; yes, that's it, his mind cooed, let the voice be that comforting protection he so longed for.

_"Go to sleep Harry … "_

And so he did. As his mind was enveloped in the soothing abyss, his lips moved to form around the letters of a name he would never recall in the morning.

"Tom."


	3. I:3

Warning: Slash

Disclaimer: This is purely a work of Fanfiction and in no one is being profited off of. All rights reserved to J.K. Rowling w/Warner Bros.

summary: It seemed inevitable, that they would become one the same. A dark retelling of the Harry Potter series from the end of Book 2. Rated M for Harry/Voldemort slash

* * *

3.

Peace had returned to number four in the upcoming weeks. The morning screams of terror abruptly halting, and a sense of normality returning to the home that was anything but.

While Vernon and Dudley welcomed back the silence, Petunia was weary. As she sat with her family at the breakfast table she continually glanced over at her quiet nephew, assessing each little move he made; which was very little. He ate his breakfast slowly with a blank expression; robotically.

It worried Petunia. No; disturbed her. She couldn't grasp his sudden change in behavior; it just made no sense to her at all. Pursuing her lips together and finishing the last of her eggs, Petunia gathered her plate along with her husbands and son and taking them over to the sink. She turned on the tap and made to wash the dishes when a small voice spoke out behind her;

"I'll do it."

She spun around, soapy water splashing against the tiled floor as she stared into her nephew's face. He stared back, his own plate in hand, and moved to stand beside her at the sink. He took the sponge from her hand and proceeded to wash.

Petunia chewed on her bottom lip, gears in her mind racing to figure out what could have possibly overcome this boy when something within her clicked; his_ lot_ would know what to do with him. Could figure out why the sudden changes in his behavior. A sense of relief filled her lungs as she made a hasty retreat from the kitchen toward the lounge room, a letter forming in her head when she stopped in her tracks.

Why was she bothering with all of this anyway? a part of her sneered. The boy wasn't normal, wasn't her son; why should she care how he acted?

_Remember your promise._

Petunia shuddered, shooed away each voice that fought at her conscious. Her bottom lip ached from the abuse of her teeth as she took out a piece of paper and pen. The words quickly scrawled themselves out and she was done. Folding the letter and tucking it in her apron pocket, Petunia checked in on her family; they had yet to move from the kitchen. Good.

Going upstairs she opened the door to her nephews room and headed for his caged bird. The little creature gave her a look that could only be of suspicion as she unhatched the lock and drew her out. Gingerly holding the bird, Petunia moved it to the window and pulled the letter out. It took her a few moments to figure out how to attach it to its legs but once it was done she gazed back at the bird.

"Take it to his people, you understand? They need to know he isn't right," she said as she opened the window. "And hurry."

The owl hooted and ruffled out her wings, turning from the woman as she took flight into air. Petunia watched her go, never noticing that her nephew stood outside his room, watching her.

* * *

Weeks went by and still no answer came.

Petunia was in the middle of stitching up a pair of her sons pants when a loud clang from outside alerted her. How she knew it was them, she couldn't explain, but she just knew they had come at last. Throwing down the pants she, and her husband, made way to the front door and opened it. Vernon recoiled and Petunia stared, relief in her eyes. Before them stood a reheaded man dressed in the patches wizard cloak she had ever seen.

He would have to do.

"Petunia Dursley I presume?" The aging man said, offering the couple a light smile.

Petunia nodded.

"My name is Arthur Weasley," he introduced, "Dumbledore has sent me to retrieve Mr. Potter and take him back to my home for the remaining duration or the summer."

Petunia nodded again, stepped aside to allow him entrance into her home. Vernon, is seemed, finally snapped out of it, but rather than throwing his ill fated anger at the wizard before them he reared back on his wife. The look of unfathomable rage evident in his beady eyes, Petunia felt a sense of fear. Her husband had never harmed her before but the way he looked at her it seemed plausible.

"You. Dare. Bring. These. _Freaks_. Into. My. Home?" He stressed out each word, teeth grinding together as his face flushed a dark shade of violet.

Petunia swallowed with difficulty, regret building inside her system. This was a bad idea; a stupid idea her mind chided her. "I...I had to...The boy..." Her mouth dried, words unable to remove themselves.

"DOES IT LOOK LIKE I GIVE A SODDING ARSE ABOUT THE BOY?!" Vernon roared, his hand raising high in the air and descending rapidly toward her face.

Petunia flinched, ready to be struck down, but something changed; shifted. There was a heavy, violent thud and her husband was on the other end of the archway, sprawled across the floor. Her eyes snapped from his unmoving form to the silent wizard at her doorsteps. He stared back at, shock evident in his face.

A small hand grasped Petunia's wrist and she recoiled and looked down. It was her nephew. His eyes (Lily's eyes) stared at her with hints of concern.

"Are you okay?" He asked in that quiet tone of his, never removing her wrist from his hand.

"I...Did you do that?"

"He was going to hit you."

The reply was monotone but she still heard the underlay of anger. Petunia removed her wrist from his hand, gnawed on her bottom lip, and placed her hand on her nephews shoulder. "I'm fine, thank you," she said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. She dropped her hand and returned her attention to the silent man. 'If you don't mind getting him out the house, it wouldn't do him good if Vernon wakes up while he's still here."

"Ah, but what about yourself? Will you be all right alone with him?"

Petunia looked back at her still unconscious husband and nodded. "Yes, it was just a burst of sudden anger," she mumbled, walking over to her husband. "Now if you'd please take the boy from my home."

"All right then, come along Harry let's go retrieve your things."

Footsteps retreated upstairs and she was left alone. Petunia sighed heavily, gazing down at her husband still. She hated to see how he would react when he awoke.


	4. I:4

Warning: Slash

Disclaimer: This is purely a work of Fanfiction and in no one is being profited off of. All rights reserved to J.K. Rowling w/Warner Bros.

summary: It seemed inevitable, that they would become one the same. A dark retelling of the Harry Potter series from the end of Book 2. Rated M for Harry/Voldemort slash

* * *

4.

Flicks of conversation pulled Harry from his slumber.

For a moment he laid there in confusion, eyes rolling around the unfamiliar room as his mind fought the haze of sleep embracing it. For a moment, as he remained where he lay, he feared the return of the voice. The invasion of his thoughts and memories all over again.

Harry, giving a long drawn sigh, absently reached up to brush the tips of his fingers along his scar. It hadn't prickled once in nearly a month. He appreciated that, but, still . . .

"MUM! HARRY'S AWAKE!"

Harry recoiled at the intruding scream, ears ringing as he cringed once more from the bellowed reply. Grabbing onto his head, Harry groaned and sat upright, bloodshot eyes snapping their attention onto the grinning redhead at the foot of the bed he occupied.

"Ron?" He croaked out. "What are you doing here?" Harry paused, frowned, and blinked up at his friend, hands lowering as he looked around the unfamiliar room again. "Where is here exactly?"

"The Leaky Cauldron. Dad brought you here yesterday and you've been asleep since," Ronald Weasley answered as he flopped down onto the four-poster bed.

"Oh," was all Harry could think to say for that moment. "But why are we here and not at the Burrow?"

"Mum said she wanted to get an early start on the school shopping,but I think it has to do with _him_."

His scar flared up slightly at the last word. Harry frowned harder, picking away at the remnant layers of sleep to what remained of his memory. Him. . . Who was _him_? Bringing his hand up to touch his scar Harry rubbed the slight burn away, a deep frown still on his face as his scattered mind tried to make sense of the word; who it attached to.

"Who is him?"

Ron sat up, eyes wide as he turned to look at his friend. "Bloody hell how can you not know about Sirius Black? He's the most wanted criminal in the Wizarding world right now." The redhead stopped, moved closer to his friend. "I heard that he murdered thirteen Muggles and a wizard. He even managed to escape before the Auror's could arrest him."

"Oh, so he's on the run still?"

"No, they caught him eventually but their on the hunt for him again." Another pause. "He broke out of Azkaban's highest security ward a few weeks ago and they haven't been able to find him since."

Harry continued to press his fingers against his scar, bouts of uninterest flickering though his mind. This man, Sirius Black, wasn't important to him. He was a criminal, yes, but he wasn't one who was connected to Harry. With that thought tucked safely inside his mind, Harry shooed his friend away so he could shower and dress in private.

As he showered his thoughts wandered off back to his relatives. He felt some guilt for leaving his aunt in the hands of his uncle, after all, she had-save him? Yes he supposed saved is right. Unlike his uncle who choice violence to get results, she had comforted him until the voice in his head had retreated and stayed gone.

Raking his fingers through his overgrown hair, Harry tilted his head back, eyes closed as the water pelted him. Harry didn't notice it, not at first, it was just a feeling, one he shrugged off instantly. But the intensity of the feeling of eyes on him grew to the point which he couldn't blindly ignore. He opened his eyes, looked around as he turned the shower off.

There was nobody there.

He laughed a little at his own paranoia; because that's what it was, he told himself. Just paranoid thoughts. Grabbing onto his towel, He wrapped it around himself and stepped out of the shower and in front of the mirror. Wiping away the mist Harry stared at his own reflection for a moment before something in the upright corner caught his attention.

He recoiled, a scream catching in his throat.

Eyes.

Dark gray human eyes were reflecting back at him.

He stumbled back, falling onto the wet floor with a crack to the back of his head. His vision swam, eyes falling in and out of focus.

_"How pitiful . . ."_

The voice spoke from above, his eyes rolled, peeled back and stared. A blurry image began to form, a man clad in a suit, staring at him with those eyes; those dark gray eyes.

_"Come now, Harry, did you really think I would leave you so easily? So soon. . . ? Foolish child my deeds with you are yet to be completed . . . "_

Harry groaned quietly, darkness crawled across his eyes as his conscious left him. Though, before the abyss could drown him, he heard it; a laugh, low and cold.

A laugh like a nest of serpents.

* * *

"Arthur are you sure the boy is the right state to be sent off to Hogwarts?" Molly Weasley asked, anxiously twisting the hem of her apron as she stared at the still form of Harry Potter.

It had nearly given her a heart attack when she came to check in on him and found him bleeding by the head on the bathroom floor. Though the Healer had told her there was nothing to worry about, just a small cut, her fears and worries couldn't be laid to rest.

"With Black out there looking for the boy, wouldn't it be better not to put him out in public where anyone can see him?"

"Molly, you've heard what Albus said. The boy is safest at Hogwarts than anywhere else," Arthur replied calmly, bringing a hand up to place it on his wife's shoulder. "Sirius Black will never get to him, not while he's under Albus's care."

"I know, I know...But still..."

"I understand, dear."

The two fell silent, both continuing to watch over the unconscious boy before retreating to their respected rooms. When the door clicked shut behind them, Harry opened his eyes just a bit. After a pregnant pause to allow his vision to settle, he sat upright and touched the back of his head. It stung, but nothing too terrible to worry over.

However. . .

This man, Sirius Black, was a new problem. He was after Harry, why, he didn't know; but he was going to find out the reason behind it.

A mass killer looking for him aside though, there was also the issue of the return of the voice. Harry frowned, fingers digging into the wound on his head. The sudden return of it was unexpected, but not equal to those eyes that had formed and stared at him.

They were frightening not because how coldly they had stared at him. No; it was because they were as familiar as Harry as his own back hand.

It was frightening because he didn't know whose eyes now watched him.


End file.
